If She had Loved Him: Full Rewrite
by Tripsy the Dovahkiin
Summary: When Christine replaces La Carlotta in a gala, she is swept up in a world of fame and fortune. She has caught the eye of an old childhood crush, Raoul. But Christine's heart might not belong to Raoul any longer as she begins to fall for the mysterious masked man living deep under the Opera Populaire. Retelling of original the If She had Loved Him from all three main POVS.
1. Chapter One - I: The Opera Populaire

**Author's Note:** Hello, all! Okay, here's the plan for this version of the story (I know...ANOTHER version. What is going on in my head?). This is going to be told in the triangle POV of Raoul-Erik-Christine. It will be three different points in time of the same event and there should be little or no repeats of the same scenes. The POVs will be in chronological order...at least as chronological as I can get it. The best way for me to handle this setup is for each chapter to be split into three different parts: one from Raoul, one from Erik, and one from Christine. Each chapter will be split into three separate posts so I don't overwhelm you with too much text.

It will still be the same story as the first version, just with more in it. It will (hopefully) clear up plot holes and challenge me as a writer, forcing me to think from three different mindsets and face certain things that may make me uncomfortable (i.e. torture scenes). It will also be a better-edited version (again, hopefully, but I am only human). Instead of making a brand new post for this, I will just be posting over the Erik version but leaving up the original.

Anyways... I hope you guys like this and are willing to read this rewritten version! Enjoy. ~Shella the Dovahkiin

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Phantom of the Opera or any other musicals whose songs may be used throughout.

* * *

 **If She had Loved Him - Rewrite  
** **Shella the Dovahkiin**

 **Chapter One  
** **I. The Opera Populaire  
** **II. Phantom's Triumph  
** **III. The Gala**

 **I**

The first thing the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny thought when he laid eyes on the opera house for the first time was that it was not as grand or as spectacular as everyone made it out to be. Whenever people talked about the "world-renowned" Opera Populaire, they made it seem to be the greatest structure ever built by the hands of man and bigger than any they had ever seen before. But this opera house was no bigger than any other Raoul had ever visited; in fact, when comparing it against several of the others he had visited, the Opera Populaire was positively tiny. The auditorium could seat, at most, 4,000 people and the stage could support only eighty-five actors. It was quite an underwhelming experience, walking inside for the first time.

Much like the size, Raoul thought the grandeur of the building to be highly overpraised as well. The seats' red fabric was not perfectly shining and bright and when he ran a finger over one of the wooden armrests, it came away marked with a few specks of dust - too much dust, in his opinion. Statues of men holding naked women in sexual poses graced almost every pillar along the walls, and Raoul did not believe that the mason had done an accurate job representing the expressions of the people he had been carving. He supposed the opera house did have one redeeming quality: a handcrafted, golden chandelier hanging high above the auditorium floor with patterns worked on the arms in silver and diamonds and pearls hanging from the branches. Similar to the rest of the Opera Populaire, though, the chandelier was small and didn't look like it would have cost too much to have built.

When Raoul arrived in the auditorium, the seats that filled the hall were empty. The house had not opened for an audience, and would not open for another several hours. At the moment, the cast was in the middle of their final full dress rehearsal for that night's performance of _Hannibal_ and everything seemed to be going somewhat smoothly, though to Raoul's eye the cast was nowhere near ready to open. And that wretched diva _Prima Donna_ was not helping matters in the slightest.

Raoul stood behind the third row of chairs in the auditorium, arms crossed, watching the rehearsal progress with mild disinterest. Standing next to him were his new bosses, the managers replacing the retiring Monsieur Lefevre. Though Raoul hesitated to use the word "bosses" when referring to those two. They both knew who was _really_ in charge; after all, it was the de Chagny fortune that would be keeping this rather underwhelming place afloat...if he even agreed to take the job.

Monsieur André was a short, gray man, his hair thinning off the top of his head but remaining full and poofy on the sides and in the back. He had a small goatee that was as gray as the rest of him. Monsieur Firmin was much taller and younger than his counterpart, still boasting a full head of black hair though his generous sideburns and tips of his regal mustache were beginning to gray a bit. Both men were smiling gaily at the stage, nodding to each other proudly as they watched the ongoing rehearsal. They were obviously very pleased with what the were seeing. Monsieur Lefevre, the retiring manager, had once had chocolate brown hair that had lightened as the gray took over. He was watching his replacements happily, his brown eyes crinkled in a smile, obviously overjoyed that they were excited about what they were seeing.

Raoul, on the other hand, remained stone-faced, not wanting to betray his inner thoughts. It was one of the tricks his father and ingrained in him as a child. "A business mogul never shows emotion or opinion when first observing," his father had told him. "If you look pleased, you will chase away the money and if you look displeased, it won't be much better for you."

The _Prima Donna_ , Signorina Carlotta Guidicelli, stood at the front of the stage. Her large, bright, multicolored dress forced Raoul to watch only her, it was so distracting. It didn't help that the ensemble was dressed in darker clothes, making them harder to see when the stood next to her. Raoul could respect the way she had been costumed; people needed to keep their eye on the most important person in the room. The rest of them...well, they didn't matter as much. Another thing his father had taught him. Though most of the woman's ginger hair was hidden underneath a pineapple-shaped hat the same vibrant colors as her dress, pieces of it were sticking out in stark contrast against the gold paint all over her forehead. Though the outfit was immensely distracting, Raoul forced himself to see past her and watch the ensemble parading around her. And what he saw did not impress him.

Everything seemed off about the group; some costumes were more like Carlotta's, grabbing his attention (though not as effectively as the _Prima Donna_ ) while the others were drab and really quite boring. There seemed to be no unity on stage, the cast was moving stiffly, and every motion lacked confidence. However long they had been working this number, it hadn't been long enough. The choreography was a mess, the sets unprepared, and every prop was out of place. Raoul really hoped that Carlotta wouldn't just be throwing the head prop off stage during the show; it looked unprofessional.

And then there was the Carlotta woman herself... She was a bratty diva with an all-about-me attitude, though Raoul found he could respect that; one needed that kind of behavior if they wanted to survive or get anywhere good in life. It was the voice he _couldn't_ respect. The way she sang, if he could even use that word to describe what was happening, was terrible. Raoul guessed that the only reason she got to where she was now was because of the way she treated everyone; she could bully her way to the top and draw crowds with just a name. But that voice... Maybe people found it to be operatic, but if that was supposed to be the point, he was missing it entirely.

Overall, Raoul found himself very unimpressed with the mess his father had gotten them into.

Now bored with the unspectacular display before him, Raoul checked a golden pocket watch engraved with his initials and embedded with five two-and-a-half carat diamonds. It had been a gift from his father years ago when he had grown into the title of Vicomte. With an audible sigh of relief, Raoul noted that it was almost time for him to go; he had another meeting of greater import than the one he was currently at coming up shortly. He cleared his throat, taking the managers' attention from the stage. "Gentlemen," he called, not even bothering to use false cheer to mask his disappointment, "I have a few things that I need to discuss with you."

"Of course, dear Vicomte!" Monsieur André replied with a deep bow. He was always going above and beyond for Raoul, practically rolling out the red carpet every time the Vicomte spoke. Raoul thoroughly enjoyed this, and made the point to _not_ tell the man that it was completely unnecessary. Any honors his title could get him, he would take.

He gave a false smile. "As you are all very well aware, my parents have a great love of supporting the arts, and they were overjoyed when I was offered the position as the new patron of this..." he searched for the right word, "interesting opera house." He left unsaid that he himself was annoyed by the offer and the only reason he was here was because his father was forcing him to look into it. Raoul had little love for opera, but his father had made a great deal of threats Raoul knew he would make good on if he had just upright refused. "As my parents were so thrilled, they want nothing more than for me to accept." He eyed the three gentlemen with a calculated look. "But this is not their decision, really. It is mine. And the one thing I am not willing to do is make a bad investment."

"I am sure, Monsieur le Vicomte, that these fine gentlemen can assure you that accepting this position will not hurt your family's finances in any way," Lefevre interrupted, his voice shaking nervously.

"Messieurs," Raoul breathed, "may I be blunt?"

"Of course, Vicomte," Firmin nodded.

Raoul smiled. He had been looking forward to speaking his true mind to these people. The Vicomte loved to see others' reactions when he told them what he really thought, especially if all of it was negative. "From what I have just witnessed and everything you have shown me today, this opera house is a disgrace." Each of the men stared at him, dumbfounded. André's jaw was hanging open and he looked absolutely lost. It made Raoul's heart swell. "Your house appears to be falling to disrepair and the dusting is not very thorough. Your ensemble is a mess and has no idea what their doing, the costumes either draw too much attention or not enough, and your _Prima Donna_..." Looking at the faces of those around him, Raoul knew he didn't need to expand on his final thought. Monsieur Lefevre was blushing in embarrassment. Raoul's smile widened. "From what I have seen today, this house will put my family and fortune into a very deep pit that we will not be able to work our way out of."

There was a long moment of silence before Lefevre finally spoke. "Vicomte de Chagny, our ticket sales..."

"Have been on a steady decline over the last few months, am I correct?" Raoul interrupted. "Right now, the money you make off of your ticket sales is just barely enough to keep this place in operation. If my family gives you what you have been asking for, we will end up hundreds of francs in debt, even after we take our payment from your sales. This is a very dangerous and poor investment, you must see."

André gave a small cough. "Monsieur le Vicomte, you obviously know that we are in trouble. Our ticket sales are barely keeping his afloat, you just said so yourself. If your family does not patron for this opera house, it will not be able to survive. When the last patron left, he took all of his money and left the Opera Populaire completely unfunded..."

"I am already aware of this." Raoul gave the men a mocking smile. "And I know that my family's money and I are your only chance of saving the Opera Populaire. But still, I refuse to place my livelihood on board a sinking ship."

"If this opera house closes," Firmin exclaimed in frustration, "there will be hundreds of people out of jobs. They'll be thrown into the streets and left to starve!"

Raoul gave him a sideways look. "I'm not sure what part of that is my problem."

Firmin moved his mouth, looking remarkably like a goldfish. He certainly had the brains of a goldfish, Raoul noted.

"What are you...p-p-planning on doing, then?" André asked nervously. It annoyed Raoul the way he stuttered when he got super nervous. "In order to judge the...s-s-security of-of-of your investment?"

"I will be keeping a close eye on your ticket sales for the next few galas. If the sales begin to increase, I will agree to patron for the opera house and give it enough to keep it running. If you continue to do well, I will grant you even more funds. However, if the sales stay where they are or get worse, I will be turning down your offer and this house can flounder and die for all I care. The welfare of your staff and the security of their jobs are not my concern, nor will they become my concern. The only thing I am concerned about is the security of my fortune."

A third thing he had picked up from his father: the de Chagny wealth came first. While his father had ordered him to look into accepting the offer, he had agreed with Raoul on one thing. If the opera house was a danger to their money, Raoul would be free to decline the position. And, based on what he had seen thus far, that was exactly what Raoul was going to end up doing.

"Now, if there are no other questions, I will take me leave. I have another important meeting to attend."

None of them made a sound. Finally, Lefevre spoke up, "Perhaps you would like to speak to some of our cast. I know there are a few of them that would love to meet you..."

Raoul sighed in exasperation. This was not the first time he had given this speech to prospective employers. And every time he gave them this talk, they forced him to meet their employees. Perhaps if he met them, if he talked to them, then he would realize how good of an operation they were running and that their jobs were imperative to their survival. If the workplace closed down, they would all be lost. Sure, he could say he didn't care about their well being, but that was only because he hadn't met them yet. Obviously, he would change his mind once he met them. What his prospective employers seemed unable to grasp, though, was that when he said he didn't care, he meant it. He had heard every sob story ever dreamt up under the sun and not one of them had ever swayed him. "Business and fortune first," his father had taught him. "People second."

He considered leaving without even deigning to reply, but instead decided to stay. Why not instill some false hope? It might get these people working better. So, he nodded. "If it will make you all feel better, then fine. Introduce me."

The four men walked out of the row and down the aisle, heading up onto the stage. In the orchestra pit, a mousy man with unnaturally pale skin and curly gray hair cut off the instruments with a wave of his arm. He rounded on the group as they approached and a babble of talk broke forth from the people on the stage, the cast taking advantage of their short break. The man's thin, gray mustache twitched as he sneered at them. "Messieurs!" he cried in annoyance. "I am attempting to rehearse! We have a performance tonight!"

 _Attempting is the proper word,_ Raoul thought. _No amount of rehearsal is going to prepare these people for their show._

"We are all very aware of that, Monsieur Reyer." Lefevre gave a grim smile. "I am just showing our new managers and possible patron around the hall. I would like to introduce them to the cast."

Reyer gave Raoul, Firmin, and André piercing looks before shaking his head in frustration. "Fine, then; but make it quick. We have a lot to get done in a short time."

Lefevre brought the three other men center stage and then called, "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please!" Instantly, the talking died down and every eye found him. "I have an important announcement to make." He took a deep breath before continuing. "For the last several weeks, rumors of my retirement have been circling around the opera house. Now that I have found my replacements, I can tell you these rumors are true."

"I knew it!" came a loud screech. Raoul flinched as he recognized Carlotta's voice from off stage left. "I knew it," she said again.

"These two men, standing behind me," he gestured to André and Firmin, ignoring Carlotta's outburst, "are to be your new managers: Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles André." A round of applause started as the two men stepped forward. Raoul shook his head as he watched André bow slightly.

"And we are very proud to introduce to you the new patron of the Opera Populaire," Firmin began, wearing a large smile. "Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny."

Raoul plastered a fake smile on his face and raised a hand in greeting. "It is...a pleasure to meet you all. My parents and I are so very excited to begin funding the world-renowned Opera Populaire. However, I have not yet accepted the position. Before I decide, I will be watching a few performances and keeping track of your ticket sales. Consider it a...safety precaution. You understand, I'm sure." His announcement was met with a heavy silence. They all knew about the problems plaguing the opera house. He didn't need to explain. "I pray you will not disappoint."

There was a small round of applause as Raoul finished his short speech. He sighed in annoyance as calls of "Pardon me! Excuse me!" reached his ears. Raoul looked over to see La Carlotta shoving her way through the crowd, a large grin spread wide over her face. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur le Vicomte!"

It was a bit difficult understanding her through her heavy Italian accent, but Raoul got the gist of what she was saying. She held her gold-painted hand out to him with a tight smile and, grimacing slightly, Raoul took it in his. He planted a small kiss on the back of it and forced out his response. "The pleasure is all mine, _Prima Donna_." Raoul dropped her hand.

"This is Signorina Carlotta Guidicelli," Lefevre introduced proudly. Raoul looked over at the man and noticed the very-well disguised contempt in his eyes. If he hadn't known what he was looking for, he would have missed it. The manager was very good at hiding his disgust with the woman before him. "She has been our leading Soprano for nearly five seasons."

"Yes, I have been told." Raoul masked his grimace with a small smile. He looked around the stage at the people pressing in, trying to get a closer look. _A rich boy in their midst. They must be going mad at the thought._ "I must beg your pardons, ladies and gentlemen. I understand that I am keeping you from your rehearsal. I will allow you to finish so you may be...prepared for tonight. Good day." He bowed his head in farewell, then walked towards the backstage exit.

On his way out, he passed by two very excited ballerinas who were whispering cheerfully to each other. One, a young blonde, looked over at him and gave him a small, shy smile that he did not return. Raoul was used to the flirting of young women, especially in places like this. He disregarded both her and her brunette friend who was looking up at him from under her eyelashes. After all, they were only ballerinas, faces lost in the ensemble. What matter of importance could either of them be, really?


	2. Chapter One - II: Phantom's Triumph

**II**

Today had been a day full of surprises at the Opera Populaire, as a few things that were to be changing had managed to slip through Erik's tight net of information. The largest thing that had managed to slip through was the truth behind Lefevre's retirement. He had been hearing rumors throughout the opera house in recent months, whispers that the aging manager was, at last, leaving, but he had assumed that they were just that: rumors. Idle gossip between bored ballerinas. He hadn't been pleased to learn that the rumors were true. And the two men Lefevre had hired to replace him were complete fools. The man Firmin was almost as full of himself as Carlotta was of _herself_. That would never do, Erik knew. André was almost just as bad, but beyond being full of himself, he was also outwardly arrogant. He would not take well to being delivered orders. On the outside, the men appeared to work very closely together, but Erik knew that one of them had more power than the other. At the moment, Erik wasn't sure which of the two men was the master and which the follower, but he had a feeling that he'd soon learn which of the two incompetent idiots was really in charge.

And then there was the Vicomte. He was just a mere boy by Erik's standards, and a handsome one by many of the ballerina's. He was tall and muscular, had shoulder-length, sandy brown hair that was well groomed, and bright blue eyes. The Vicomte also wore a fine suit that compared very well against the suits Erik himself wore. But truly, it was the boy's bright eyes that caught Erik's attention right away. They were cold and hard, holding heavily veiled contempt for everything they saw. The Vicomte was a rich boy who had come to play the game of business, and the only thing on his mind was money and how much he could make. Erik had dealt with men like him before, and every experience had been worse than the one that had came before it. Erik wasn't sure which of the three men was going to be harder to control, but if he had to guess, he would place his entire salary and every cent he had ever earned on the Vicomte.

Shortly after the boy had left, rehearsals for that night's production resumed. Monsieur Lefevre had idly excused himself, telling the new managers that they now had everything well in hand. He also passively mentioned something about Australia. Erik didn't think they would ever be seeing the man again, which was quite a shame. He always did as he was instructed, gave Erik his monthly pay, and never asked too many questions.

The cast had finished the number "Hannibal Comes" and as Reyer gave notes to his orchestra, Erik could hear Carlotta complaining about how the new managers seemed to only focus on the ballerinas, completely disregarding her. She threatened to leave and Firmin and André were only able to get her to stay by offering her the aria, "Think of Me", at the end of the third act. As much as Erik seriously detested these men, he had to admit; they know how to handle a diva.

But, by that point, Erik had had enough. He was sick of listening to Carlotta's terrible singing coupled with her terrible attitude. He was sick of hearing everyone bend over backwards to keep her complacent so she would keep singing for them. This opera house deserved better than Carlotta, and he was going to see that it got it. However, he had more of a motive for wanting to be rid of Carlotta than just his hatred for her has a person and performer. Something Vicomte had said had been nagging at Erik for a while now. If the Opera Populaire didn't get it ticket sales back up, he would refuse to fund the house. It would shut down, and the people that worked here would be tossed into the streets. Erik could not abide that. He knew the only way to get ticket sales back up was to get someone with actual talent into the spotlight. And he had the perfect person in mind. But first things first…

Erik took some parchment, ink, and a quill from under his seat. He scratched a quick letter to the managers, placed it in an envelope, and sealed it with the red wax skull that had become his signature. As the _Prima Donna_ began her butchery of the beautiful number, Erik slunk out of his hiding place in Box Five, the box that had the best view of the stage. When he had taken up the mantle of the Opera Ghost and become the real owner of the Opera Populaire, he had demanded that this box be kept empty at every show. That way, whenever he wanted to attend a performance, he knew he had a seat. So far, this order had been followed for every production. Sticking to the shadows, Erik worked his way to the stage and headed up onto the catwalks.

The backdrop was being held up by a complex knotting of ropes high above the stage. The station was supposed to be manned by the stage hand, Joseph Buquet, but he was almost never at his post. Today, thankfully, was no exception. The man was nowhere to be seen; probably off drunk somewhere, or harassing one of the young ballerinas. One day, Erik would get rid of Buquet, too, but he needed to take this one monster at a time. Right now, the real threat to Opera Populaire was Carlotta, so it was her that needed to go. This also served as a chance for him to make an introduction. The sooner the new managers learned that he was really the one in charge here, and not them, the better.

She was standing in the perfect spot; right underneath the large cloth backdrop that was the main setting for _Hannibal._ It was one of heavier pieces being used and would cause a quite the scare when it fell on top of her. Erik didn't want to kill the diva, though. That would start a search of the opera house with people hounding for his head, whether or not they thought him a real ghost. So, before untying the main rope, he changed a few of the secondary knots. Now it would fall at a fast enough pace as to be unavoidable, but not so fast as to kill the wretched woman. Once his new rig was in place, Erik untied the main rope and watched as the backdrop plummeted.

He smiled as Carlotta's screeching, off-pitch singing turned into a screeching, off-pitch scream of fear. The cries of those below him reached his ears as the painted piece of cloth made its descent, pressing Carlotta to the ground. Her shouts of fear became shouts of irritation, filling the auditorium as she yelled for assistance.

Although Erik would have loved nothing more than to stay and watch the carnage his handiwork had undoubtedly caused, he knew it would now be only a matter of moments before Buquet – drunk or not – came running to see what had caused the backdrop to fall. Before he left though, Erik dropped his letter to the managers to the stage below, knowing that it would be found once peace and been restored. With a twirl of his cape, Erik turned and fled back down the catwalks, through the hallways leading to the boxes, and into Box Five. As he moved, he listened to Carlotta throwing her now all-to-familiar diva tantrum. The only part of her rant he was able to understand was that she would be leaving and never returning. _And good riddance to her,_ Erik thought. _At long last._

He approached the empty candle sconce that was built into the wall, reached out, and pulled it down. The tripwires in the hidden door activated and the wall slid back to reveal a dark mouth leading into the tunnels that ran through the opera house and into his home far beneath. These tunnels ensured that he could come and go as he pleased, completely unseen, and no one would be the wiser. Before he could step into the tunnel, though, he heard the voice of Antoinette Giry called clear and loud, "Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

Erik froze, one foot in the tunnel and one still in the box. Slowly, he turned back to face the stage, stepping closer to the golden banister. Would she really have moved this fast? Erik had told Antoinette to be ready for when Carlotta left, but he had expected her to wait for some of the chaos to die down before putting the girl's name forward. The managers remained silent, but Madame Giry's voice flowed clearly forth, undaunted by their lack of response. "Please, Messieurs, she has been taking lessons from a wonderful teacher. Let her sing for you."

There were a few moments of tense silence as the managers deliberated. Erik took a deep breath as he stepped out from the shadows, kneeling down behind the banister. He looked down on the stage. _There she is._ The moment he laid eyes on the young Christine Daaé, his heart began to race. She wore her ballerina costume, a brown outfit that revealed more of her skin than Erik would have liked, and her beautiful, brunette hair was being held in place by golden bands glittering in the firelight,

A warmth and love that none other could evoke in him rushed through his body as he watched this young girl, his student, his protégé, timidly step forward. Erik had been coaching her voice to perfection for years under the guise of her Angel of Music. Over the course of her lessons, Erik had trained her to one day take her rightful place as the _Prima Donna_ of the Opera Populaire. While it had started as something simple, a favor he had done to ease the girl's pain over her father's passing, it had become so much more. Erik had quickly found himself as entranced with Christine's voice as she had been with his, and his fatherly feelings for her had blossomed into something much more potent. By the time she had turned fifteen, Erik had fallen completely in love with her.

Now, through his cunning and Antoinette's recommendation, her time had finally come. She was finally being given a chance to show the entire cast of the Opera Populaire what she had learned from him; what she was capable of. Waiting with bated breath, Erik watched Christine proudly. "You can do it, my angel," he whispered encouragingly, though he knew she couldn't hear him. "Just remember what I've taught you."

The short introduction music started and then, her voice filled the hall. **_"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try."_** Erik's knees went weak as her flawless Soprano voice flowed to every corner of the theater. She was singing more beautifully than he could have ever hoped for. **_"And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me…"_**

Erik shook his head as he heard other voices came closer and closer to his box. Stage hands coming to search the area, maybe. Or cleaning staff wanting to make sure the box was ready for him tonight. While he had stood entranced by Christine's music, he had let whoever it was come close. Too close. If they got any closer while he was still in here, he risked being discovered. Wishing he could stay just a moment longer, Erik reluctantly snuck back into the shadows and into the long, narrow tunnel. Once he was through, he turned the candle sconce on the other side of the wall and the secret door slid back into place. Erik had wanted so badly to stay and hear the rest of her audition, but he knew he would hear it in full later tonight. There was no way the managers could say no to her now that they had heard her sing. And there was no way Erik was going to miss his angel's debut performance. Erik would ensure that Box Five was saved for him and he would go to the gala tonight. He would go and hear his beautiful angel, the woman he loved, sing for a full house.

The rest of the day he spent pacing restlessly in his home, waiting for the evening to come and the house to open. While he waited, a plan began to form. Erik had been wanting to reveal his true self to Christine for a long time. He wanted her to know him as a man, and not as the mysterious angel sent by her father. He wanted her to know his love and devotion to her, and everything he wanted for her. Tonight, he planned, after the success the gala was sure to be, he would go to the _Prima Donna_ dressing room. Erik had a tunnel that opened up in that room, the mouth covered by the large mirror that had been Carlotta's pride and joy. He would go to Christine, bring her to his world, show her everything he had and held dear. Tonight, she would learn who her Angel of Music really was.

A few moments before he planned to leave, about fifteen minutes before the curtain opened, Antoinette Giry appeared in his lair. She was the only other person in the world besides Christine that Erik loved. She had saved his life as a child and had acted like a mother and confidant to him ever since. Her strict face and piercing gray eyes were some of the most comforting sights in the world to Erik.

Erik crossed swiftly over to her and asked, "Is she alright?"

"She is terrified," Antoinette answered honestly.

"Why?" His eyes narrowed compassionately.

"Why do you think, Erik? I can only imagine how unprepared she must feel. She is replacing a woman who has been the leading Soprano for five seasons. It must be so stressful for her."

"She'll make me proud," Erik responded softly. "She already has… Did you hear her sing today, Nettie? She sounds so beautiful! The angels themselves are looking down on her in envy."

Antoinette held up a hand, stopping him from gushing more praise. "As proud as we are of her, I am not here to discuss Christine. I came to warn you. The managers have refused to obey your orders. In fact, they have already given your box to the new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny. They hope the perfect seat will help him agree to fund us."

Immediately, Erik's mood soured. He had known these men would cause him problems, but he hadn't expected it to start so soon. "I will teach this foolish boy why he should fear the Opera Ghost…" he hissed in fury.

He started for the tunnel that led to the auditorium, but Antoinette placed a hand on his shoulder. "Erik, I am begging you. Don't do to this boy what you did to the last patron. I don't like him very much either, but we need his money. If you do anything to anger or scare him, he may refuse to fund this house. Christine will be cast into the streets. Please," she implored, "for the love you bare her, let this one go."

Erik considered arguing that, with a voice like hers, there was no way Christine would be unemployed for long. That, and she was a stellar dancer. There would be opportunities for her if anything happened to the Populaire. But then, he thought about Antoinette. She was much older and the single mother to the young Meg Giry; if anything happened to the opera house, she may not be able to find work to support both her and her growing daughter. And then there was the chance that Erik may never see either Antoinette or Christine again if the Opera Populaire closed down. That brought him up short and any thoughts of arguing left him.

"Alright," he sighed resignedly. "For your sake and the sake of Christine, I will let him be... But I am still going to see the performance. I have to hear her sing…" He thought for a moment. "The orchestra pit," he decided at last. "That will have to do." It wasn't the most ideal place to listen to performers on the stage, but Erik had to be there for Christine. It was the best he was going to be able to do. "Go, Nettie. Return to your dancers. And to Christine. Tell her…tell her how proud I am of her. And that she will be perfect."

Antoinette gave Erik one of her rare smiles before turning and leaving the room. Erik waited a few moments before he too headed out of his home and into his tunnels. Tonight was going to be a wonderful, perfect night. He just knew it.


	3. Chapter One - III: The Gala

**III**

When Madame Giry had recommended Christine Daaé as the replacement for the _Prima Donna_ , Christine had been terrified and confused. Carlotta, though a diva with a terrible temper and an even worse attitude, had been Opera Populaire's _Prima Donna_ for years. Christine, as Monsieur André had been so kind to point out, was just a chorus girl. The thought that she, of all people, could replace the world-renowned La Carlotta was silly. On top of that, she had been feeling miserable. She had just learned that Raoul, a boy she had grown up with and had a large crush on, was the next possible patron for the Opera Populaire. She had had Meg try to get his attention so he would see her, but he had just looked right through them. Christine should have known better; Raoul was a Vicomte and she…she was a ballerina at a failing opera house. Feeling the way she was, Christine knew there was no way an audition was going to go well. And yet, when she had stepped forward and begun to sing, the room had gone dead silent. Cast members and stagehands who had disappeared after Carlotta's diva tantrum returned to the stage in awed silence to hear a chorus girl who had lived in the shadows step forward and begin to sing like an angel.

After her unexpected audition, Christine found herself in the midst of a whirlwind of activity. She was brought to Carlotta's large dressing room, her hair and makeup being done by professional designers. Seamstresses were working as fast as they could to fit what was meant to have been Carlotta's gown to Christine's much smaller frame. Madame Giry may have been at her side for a moment during all of the insanity, but she had eventually been torn away; there were things she needed to take care of before the show opened.

By the time Christine was completely dressed and ready to go, the house had opened and guests had started pouring in. Backstage, listening to the dull roar of the audience's conversation, Christine wrung her hands and paced nervously. Only a handful of moments before she was meant to go on, Madame Giry came to her side and placed a loving hand on her shoulder.

"Are you scared, my child?" Madame Giry asked her, eyes narrowed with compassion. Christine knew that the elderly woman hadn't meant to put her on the spot like she had. After all, Madame Giry had been like a mother to her.

"Yes, Madame," Christine answered honestly. She had never been able to lie to Madame Giry even under the best of circumstances. The woman was a human lie-detector and knew the moment you were being dishonest. "It's just…I've never had any real practice with this show and I'm an unknown voice. Everyone sitting out there is expecting Carlotta to be singing tonight."

"Don't be worried, Christine," Madame Giry remarked, placing her hand on the girl's cheek. "Just remember what you've learned from your teacher."

"But I don't even have any idea who my teacher is!" Christine cried in exasperation. "I've never met him, not face-to-face… How do I know what he taught me is what I need to know?"

"You must have faith, my dear," Madame Giry smiled affectionately. "You will do very well tonight, I promise you."

"But what if I don't?" she asked, eyes wide.

Madame Giry shook her head. "You will do fine, my child. And know that, no matter what happens, your teacher is already so very, very proud of you."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Trademark secret," Madame Giry responded with a wink. She gave Christine's shoulder one last, reassuring squeeze before heading back to the wings.

A stagehand came up to her and grabbed her hand. "It's time, Mademoiselle."

Christine cast one last, desperate look over her shoulder at Madame Giry standing in the shadows with her ballerinas before putting on as large a smile as she could muster. The curtain opened and she stepped to the center of the stage. Christine could only imagine what the audience was thinking, seeing this unknown girl standing where La Carlotta was meant to be. This was _not_ what they were expecting. This was _not_ what they had paid for. Those not mesmerized by the unknown girl's beauty – the white dress and star barrettes in her chocolate curls caught the fire of the stage lights and chandelier above beautifully – were climbing to their feet in frustration, ready to demand their francs back.

Then, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

 ** _"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try. And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, stop and think of me."_**

Her Soprano voice was beautiful and loud, carrying all the way to the back of the opera house. Even those in the last rows could hear her perfectly. The higher notes she sang came out clear and pure. It was obvious that her voice had been coached by a professional tutor. It didn't sound at all like Carlotta's almost uncontrolled fluctuations. This definitely was not what the people had paid for; it was better. Those that had started to leave found themselves in their seats once more, staring wide-eyed and wordless at this wondrous beauty on the stage.

As the song continued, Christine found herself having more and more fun and began to feel free. As she reached the final chorus, she heard a voice call from above. The unidentified man shouted down at her, "Bravo!" and clapped louder than most in the audience. With this great encouragement, Christine took another breath and began the last verse.

 ** _"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons so do we. But please promise me that sometimes you will think…"_** She paused, took a final large breath, and: _**"Aaah ah ah ah aaahhh. Aaah aah aah aah aaah. Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah aaaaaahhhhaaaa…. Aaaa ooooof me!"**_

The aria finished. Before the last note had finished ricocheting off of the auditorium walls, the audience was on its feet, clapping, cheering, and whistling in support of this new-found talent. It was Christine's very first performance, and she was receiving a standing ovation. Flowers were thrown onto the stage at her feet.

Unable to keep the smile off of her face, Christine bowed, letting the applause wash over her.

The next few moments, much like the rest of her day, passed by in a blur of activity. Several people came up to her to congratulate her on a – surprisingly – job well done, but Christine found her usual shy nature kicking back in now that she was off the stage. While she may have been in the limelight while she was performing and been fine with it, she now felt threatened and claustrophobic having to actually meet and speak to people. So, as soon as she found a quiet moment, she slipped into a back room, down the hall, and up a flight of stairs.

She fled to her quiet place.

It was a room she had frequented throughout her time at the Opera Populaire. Here, a picture of her father was waiting for her, set on an altar surrounded by candles. Every night before she went to sleep, she would sneak up here, light a candle, and pray to her father. This was also where her Angel of Music came to her, the angel who had given her her voice lessons and gotten her to where she was tonight. Christine doubted he would be making an appearance this night, though. There was no need for a lesson now. Still, she bowed her head and started whispering a silent prayer for strength and protection. She was only a bit into her prayer when she heard a man's voice whispering lovingly, tenderly, "Brava, brava, bravissima."

The quiet voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once and filled her with a calming warmth. It faded as suddenly as it had come, but it only took those three words for Christine to know who it was. A smile graced her lips and her heart began to race longingly at the feeling of his presence. "Angel?" she whispered hopefully. "Are you here?"

"Christine?" came a voice in response. It wasn't the voice of her angel this time. This new voice was female. "Christine, are you in here?" The voice was closer this time.

Her angel's voice whispered once more, "Christine…" and then disappeared. Christine's smile faded along with the voice. The presence of her angel left as well, and a loneliness unlike any other settled in Christine's chest, slowing her racing heart.

"Please...come back…" she whispered, bowing her head once more.

A young blonde girl around the same age as Christine suddenly entered the room. She had pale skin, sparkling blue eyes, and a proud smile lighting up her round face. The girl wore a simple, white dress that was the uniform for the opera house ballerinas. "There you are, Christine! Mama and I have been looking for you for ages!"

"I haven't been gone that long, Meg," Christine responded, unable to suppress a grin. "Only a few short minutes."

Meg crossed the room and slid to the ground next to Christine. The young blonde was the birth daughter of Madame Giry and was Christine's only true friend at the Opera Populaire, excluding her angel. Over the years, the two had become more like sisters. They had grown up training together in the ballet dormitories under Madame Giry's strict but loving care.

"It doesn't matter how long you've been hiding away," Meg told her with a loving smile. "You shouldn't be disappearing so soon after the gala. You're the star tonight and everyone wants to meet you!" She leaned in close and whispered, "Everyone is saying that you're even better than La Carlotta. They think _you_ should be Opera Populaire's new _Prima Donna_."

Christine laughed. "After only one gala? Meg, that's ridiculous. Carlotta has years of experience on me. That makes her more qualified."

"Not according to our audience," Meg responded matter-of-factly. "They seem to think that you have more experience and especially talent." She turned and studied the picture of Christine's father. "I have to ask, Christine… I've never seen anyone suddenly able to sing like that. You must have an instructor. A…tutor of some kind. And he _must_ be some kind of genius… Would you tell me...who is he?"

She hesitated before she responded. "I'm…I'm not sure, Meg." Christine could feel her friend's quizzical gaze resting on her. It was clear to Christine how crazy she sounded; she had a voice teacher that much was clear. But even she, his _student_ , didn't know who he was? Though it sounded mental, it was very true. Her angel had been the one to teach her to sing, and she had never actually seen him face-to-face. It was only his voice that came to her, not his physical form. "All I know is that before my father died, he promised that he'd send me an Angel of Music once he arrived in Heaven. This angel would be my angel only, and he would protect me, watch over me, and love me when no one else would. One night, when I came up here to pray for my father years ago, he came to me, Meg. My angel. He sang to me, and he taught me to sing."

Christine stopped herself from continuing, suddenly realizing how much she had said. She hadn't meant to tell Meg all of that story; she had never told anyone the full thing. Not even Madame Giry knew all of it, and she had been the only mother Christine had ever known.

Meg continued to watch her carefully. "Do you really think it's the spirit of your father that's been coaching you?"

"I'm not sure, Meg…but who else could it be?"

Before their conversation could continue, the door was thrown open and Madame Giry entered the room. Christine and Meg jumped, turning to look at the woman standing over them. "My dears," she hissed impatiently, rapping her thigh with the black cane she carried. The black skirt of her gown swished at the sudden motion. Her long braid swayed from right to left as she looked first at Meg and then at Christine. Her hawk-like gaze pierced both girls accusingly.

"You are both being looked for everywhere! I thought you knew better than the hide away after a gala! And as our star, Christine, you should most definitely be out there greeting the people! I taught you both better than this!"

"Pardons, Madame Giry," Christine responded, climbing delicately back to her feet. She bowed her head as she continued, "I just…I don't like all the attention…"

Madame Giry helped Meg up, smiling sadly at Christine. Her piercing gaze died away as she took Christine's hand in hers. "I am sorry, my dear, but you are going to have to get used to this. If things go the way I am imagining they will, you will be receiving a lot of attention these next few days."


End file.
